Writing is killing me

           “You look kinda sad today,” the voice of the purple haired girl echoes in the two parallel worlds of mirror reflection.

            He can see it in front of him. The strange, yet familiar, sadness in his eyes. They look orange under the bright bathroom light, irises encircled by a thin trail of brown. Brown, the colour associated with the warmth of chocolate and caramel, the colour of comfort and strength, is twisted into its complete opposite by two instruments of sight. He stares. They stare back. The cold orange-tinted eyes reflect the mirror image in their glacial rigidity, distorting the transformed image into that of an infinite parallel reality. Resembling a menacing layer of ice on the still surface of bristly-cold water, the untouched worlds and speckled patterns shine from deep under the plane of the iris. Intertwined curlicues of muscle tissue form tiny notions of unexplored universes, urging to the deep well of the pupil. The well he is drawn into. The abyss that is consuming and ominously inviting. The hole he is falling in.

            What if Stephen does not care?

Why am I doing this to myself? Why? Why?
Anyway... I started school yeah it's pretty chill. I probably had the best first day experience ever because this time I actually had the confidence to enjoy myself.